


I'll try (but it's so hard to believe)

by TheArtfulDodger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bella's age has been shifted for convenience, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Tom Riddle, F/M, First Time, Mildly Dubious Consent, Seventh Year and Head Girl, Student Bellatrix, Tags and Characters Will Be Added as Needed, Teacher-Student Relationship, Virgin Bellatrix Black, Wand Ejaculation, Yeah you read that right, and it's important to the plot too, and still very bossy, consent kink, everyone is evil but in a sexy way, everyone's been pining for years, in the sense that Bella is still underage, they're still hot for each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 09:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22493587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtfulDodger/pseuds/TheArtfulDodger
Summary: DADA Professor Tom Riddle is teaching the Patronus Charm to his seventh year students, all the while trying to keep his secret hidden. Turns out Head Girl Bella has more to teach him.
Relationships: Bellatrix Lestrange/Tom Riddle
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	I'll try (but it's so hard to believe)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imagineakingdom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineakingdom/gifts).



> Okay, so this started as a one-shot for the lovely @imagineakingdom, who wanted a Bellamort teacher-student AU with the lovey-dovey couple eloping in the end, but then the fic developed a life of its own and demanded a lot of crackporn (sorry, the tag says it all, I don't make the rules). However, Part I (chapter 1) can be read as a serious one-shot, so feel free to ignore the rest if you're not in the mood for crack and sex. Still, there will be a plot arching a year or two in the life of Bellatrix and Tom and they do get married by Part II. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter series, as I also don't own the dialogue of the Peter Pan play in the beginning. I found that online on a public script by the Custom Made Theatre Co. and made some minor changes. Credit and thanks to them for making it widely accessible. And yes, the original script by J. M. Barrie includes the word 'ass', I didn't make this up. 
> 
> Warnings: You've read the tags, you have been warned.

_31st December 1934, Duke of York’s Theatre, City of Westminster, London_

_ Charity Production of ‘Peter Pan; or the Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up’ for the benefit of the Destitute Waif Children of Wool’s Orphanage _

“Poison?!” cried out the actor, pulling at his hair. “You drunk the poison to save me? But why, Tink? Why?”

His eyes were bulging, but they were not focusing on anything other than a beam of light, which was growing fainter by the second. 

“Oh, you silly, silly ass,” a pained voice whispered, followed by the sound of tinkling bells. “And now I’m going to die…”

“No! Tink! Tink, it’s okay, you’ll be okay, everything'll be okay!”

“If only… If only children believed in fairies again…” 

The beam of light flickered. 

“Yes! That’s it!” The actor snapped his fingers and turned to the audience. 

“Do you believe? Do you believe in fairies? Clap your hands if you do! Come on, everyone, don’t let Tinker Bell die! Clap! Stomp your feet!”

The theatre broke into thunderous claps, as orphans and children of patrons alike clapped as hard as their little hands could. Well, all except one. 

“You, young man!” the actor pointed at a boy in the first row, in the orphans’ seats, who was sitting with his fingers knitted together decidedly. Everyone craned their necks to get a look at the non-believer. “Don’t you believe in fairies?”

The little boy, no older than eight, met the actor’s eye squarely. 

“No,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. 

“O-ho!” chortled the actor. “Then I suppose you also don’t believe in love and trust and hope!” 

“No,” repeated the boy, and he shook his head for emphasis. There were audible gasps from the audience and a few ladies brought silk handkerchiefs to their eyes, for they imagined the tragedies that led to the creation of this tiny cynic with the violet eyes and soft locks. 

However, someone was not amused at all. The matron of the orphanage was glaring at the boy, hissing threats between gritted teeth. The actor did not follow her example in conversion.

“Well, then, my dear boy, there’s only one solution for you!”

And, with a pirouette, he threw a handful of fairy dust in the boy’s face, causing him to cough up clouds of glitter. 

_Air-headed idiots,_ Tom thought, as he sunk down his seat, annoyed and very sparkly in the face.

* * *

_19 Years Later_

Tom was unusually irritable as the seventh year students filed in for a late afternoon Defense Against the Dark Arts class. The Patronus Charm was his least favourite enchantment to teach. Preaching the power of love and happiness and hope was the theme of novellas targeted at kids of middle and upper-class families, and had no place in his classroom, where rationality, cool-headedness and Theory of Magic ruled supreme. 

He had even petitioned for its removal from the curriculum - after all Dementors were under Ministry control these days - but Headmaster Dippet, under Dumbledore's guidance, no doubt, had insisted on its value.

"This is a very advanced spell which requires a special kind of emotional state from the caster,” Tom parroted Dippet’s lecture. “The motion of the wand and the incantation are simple enough, but only those of pure heart and of clear mind can cast a corporeal Patronus. However, no reason to be discouraged if you fail by the end of the hour, there’s plenty of time to try again. Now, focus on your happy memories and proceed with your experimentations. Concentration is key, so no talking, please.”

The students obeyed at once. There was something behind Tom’s smooth voice that demanded attention, even though no student had ever heard him yell. 

They closed their notebooks, where their homework and classroom exercises were filled, put them to the side for him to collect and took out their wands. Soon, the room was echoing with ‘exPEcto patROnum’s, but there were zero wisps of silvery smoke in sight. Some of the children were focusing so hard, their faces were bright red. 

Tom started cruising among desks, making corrections and giving encouragement here and there, as per usual, even if it was the last thing he wanted. He feared the moment a student might ask questions, since he would, most likely, be unable to answer them. Indeed, the dreaded moment came, and from the worst possible source: Bellatrix Black wanted to ask something. 

He walked swiftly towards the working station in the middle of the first row, right before his own desk, trying to keep his face neutral. 

The heir of the Blacks was quite the handful: haughty and arrogant, she did not bother hiding her distaste for him. His blood status and poverty offended her in a personal level, since, as the teacher, he had the upper hand in the relationship. She antagonised him openly in the classroom and remained undaunted by his harsh criticism and many detentions for insubordination he handed her. Tom was pretty sure his hair was beginning to thin because of her - the three years he had been teaching her felt like a decade. 

“How may I be of service to you, Miss Black?” he said quietly, as not to bother the other students. Tom’s default strategy with the Pureblood Heirs and Bellatrix in particular was politeness to a revolting degree. 

“Could you repeat the wand motion, sir? I’m afraid I didn’t quite understand,” she said, under her long eyelashes. 

For a moment Tom was distracted by the deep shadows they cast over her pale skin, and he had to smack himself mentally for being this inappropriate. 

“Just a circular motion, Miss Black. Nothing fancy,” he replied, about to walk past her. 

“Could you show us, professor? I don’t think I am synchronising the incantation with the wand movement correctly,” Bellatrix insisted, with that pouty drawl pureblood girls seemed to think men found attractive. 

“It makes no difference when you say the incantation, Miss Black,” he said patiently, his insides squirming. 

“So you can’t _show_ us?” she demanded. 

Tom felt his stomach sink.

There was no way she _knew_ \- _nobody_ knew.

“Why don’t you make an attempt?” he returned the demand. 

Bellatrix cocked an eyebrow, as if contemplating his offer - as if she was in a position to say ‘no, actually, I don’t take orders from filthy Mudbloods, like you’. Still, she raised her wand and waved it in a comically crude fashion. 

What on earth was this girl playing at? Bellatrix’ wand work had _never_ been this lazy. Panic seeped through his veins: she knew and was trying to out his secret for everyone to mock him! 

With a deep breath, Tom stood behind her, keeping a good two feet away from her: teachers were not allowed to have physical contact with students and Tom wanted to be extra careful around Bellatrix. Wand still in his pocket, he raised his left arm, Bellatrix’ good side, and nodded for her to follow his movement. 

“Expecto Patronum!” 

Something massive sprang out of Bellatrix’ wand, a beast of dazzling silver. Tom had to squint to get a good look at the black pantheress that strutted proudly among the students, who were staring at the Patronus open-mouthed. 

“I see you have been practicing during the summer, Miss Black,” Tom said evenly, trying to sound professional and definitely-not-impressed. “Ten points to Slytherin.”

The rest of the hour passed by with no more thrills, other than Bellatrix’ incredibly annoying, smug grin that she shot him even two minutes, like clockwork. Nobody else was able to produce more than silver smoke and Tom spent his time using Legilimency discreetly on the students, collecting, as he liked to do during this lesson, happy memories: smiling family members, hugs, Quidditch Cup wins, all things he could not relate to. To his great disappointment, Bellatrix did not repeat her feat, and so his curiosity remained unsatisfied. 

When the doorbell rang, he packed his things and left faster than the most bored student.

* * *

Many hours later, alone in his room, Tom was ignoring the pile of first years’ homework in favour of stewing in his juices over Bellatrix. The Patronus Charm lesson would take at least three school lessons to complete, and he couldn’t imagine how he could avoid murdering that girl. Just the thought of her smirking at him (oh yes, she had been smirking _directly_ at him, because she _knew his secret)_ made his blood boil. His only hope was that the rest of the class was as desperately stupid as he thought they were, blissfully ignorant to his weakness and Bellatrix’ sick game of mocking him. Oh how he wanted to throttle her -

There was a knock on the door and he answered ‘come in’ automatically. Tom nearly jumped when Bellatrix walked in. 

“Miss Black! You should be in your dormitory, it’s nearly eleven o’clock.”

“Head Girl,” Bellatrix said simply, pointing at the purple pin on her robes. “I was just finishing my rounds, sir, when I remembered this. You left the classroom so quickly I didn’t have the chance to give you my homework.”

She offered him her DADA notebook, which had a thin strip of silk poking out, indicating the page of work for convenience. He gave her latest essay on Dementor attacks a quick look and marked it with an _O_ at the end. 

“You’re all set,” he said, not looking at her, but rather at the first years’ homework on his desk. “Have a good night.”

But Bellatrix stood rooted to the spot. 

“You really can’t produce a Patronus, can you?” 

It was a statement, not a question. 

“You always demonstrate the spells for us. _Always_. In fact, you’re quite the show-off. And it’s okay, pretty cool, actually, seeing you do all these things. To me, it’s a pleasure. So how can it be that a wizard of your abilities is unable to cast even an Incorporeal Patronus? I’ve been able to do it since I was in Third Year.”

Tom was stubbornly not looking at her, but his peripheral vision caught Bellatrix gesturing at the room around them, where various trophies from his world-wide adventures and scrolls from renowned magical institutions decorated the walls, shelves and even the nightstand. 

_Funny, I’ve been asking myself the same thing for years,_ he thought.

_When I failed to do it in my Sixth Year, Dumbledore held me back after class and flat-out told me he was greatly disappointed in me. He’d always suspected my true nature, he said, but it saddened him to have such strong evidence that I would never do anything of value - that I was corrupt and my heart tainted by darkness. I never tried again._

He said nothing out loud, for he could feel his cheeks burning with shame. 

“I mean, emotionally stunted people always have trouble with the spell,” Bellatrix went on with her soliloquy, “and you’re not the warmest person around. And I suppose you don’t have too many happy memories - a lonely orphan growing up in a London slum, surrounded by Muggles and filth, just trying to survive -”

“Enough, Miss Black.”

Tom spoke softly, but he made sure his tone carried an obvious threat. He stood up and looked the girl in the face for the first time since she had walked into the room. Even though she was tall for her age, he was still nearly a foot taller.

“Enough,” he repeated, towering over her, his voice echoing on the stone walls. To her credit, Bellatrix did not cower. “You have stepped over the line. Let me remind you I am a professor and you a student, Miss Black.”

He struck her with a withering look.

“Go. Leave.”

Bellatrix returned his gaze defiantly, but a shadow obscured her eyes. She wanted to add something - because she was infuriating and needed to have the final word at everything, no doubt-

“Have you considered trying a fantasy instead of a memory?” she said, conversationally. 

Tom blinked. 

“Excuse me?”

“For the Patronus Charm. Since you don’t have any happy memories, why not try a fantasy that makes you happy? It’s what I do, and it works every time.”

Tom opened his mouth to speak, but he was struck by a headache so severe, he forgot where he was.

_He was holding a different wand with his left hand, which was small and soft and covered in rings, one with the Black family coat of arms on it. Long black hair was obscuring his vision, but it did not matter, because now he was using his mind’s eye to evoke a delightful picture: he was kissing warm lips, biting hard on them, as he run his fingers across short, thick locks. They parted, and the man leaned down, seeking his mouth hungrily. Hazy from the sensation, he opened his eyes and found himself inches from sharp cheekbones and violet eyes - his own eyes -_

Tom had to steady himself on the nearest bookshelf. Not trusting his legs, he leaned on the wooden panel, his brain desperate to comprehend. 

“How - Why -” 

He was stammering, confused. Had she just used Reverse-Legilimency on _him_? Could this really be the image Bellatrix had evoked to summon her pantheress Patronus? His mind was racing, but his lips felt numb.

“Miss Black-”

Bellatrix did not let him finish. She trapped him flat against the bookcase and pressed her lips on his, her tongue slipping into his mouth as he opened it in shock. She tasted of apples and cinnamon on a rainy evening. 

“No -”

Blood flooded his mouth, as she bit hard on his lower lip to silence him. Unfazed by the irony taste and sticky texture, Bellatrix continued attacking his lips, even daring to put a hand on his cheek. 

Every part of his brain that had been screaming that this was wrong, that he’d get in a whole lot of trouble and, most importantly, that Bellatrix was just yanking his wand, died out when she cupped his face. 

Tom’s lips flew open and he lifted Bellatrix off her feet. The next moment he was the one pressing their bodies against the wall, running his hands all over her, desperate for closeness. Bellatrix was returning the favour by devouring his mouth with the enthusiasm of the starved who has been offered cake. 

Drunk from the sensation, he had no idea when they started taking their clothes off or who initiated it; all he knew what that suddenly Bellatrix let out a cry that could only be described as a shriek of pain. 

Tom pulled his head out of the crook of her neck, where he had been sucking on, and looked down. His shirt was open and his pants were undone, pooling around his ankles, and his cock - somehow his cock was inches deep inside Bellatrix; a thin layer of blood was trickling down the shaft. 

_“Fuck.”_

Tom turned to look at Bellatrix, expecting to find her angry and crying. Instead, she was giving him the same evil grin she had given him earlier in class, when she had been flaunting her Patronus. Granted, she was breathing hard and her face was contorting in pain every time either of them moved, but her arm was still around his neck. 

“Well, why are you stopping?” she purred. 

“When’s your birthday?” he dared ask, even if he could already feel her cervix with the tip of his cock. 

“I’ll be seventeen in three months and seven days,” Bella said casually, as if her answer wasn’t condemning him to the deepest pits of hell. 

“Why didn’t you tell me!?” he demanded, shoving her away, his cock so hard, the head slammed on his torso.

“You could have asked while I was fiddling with your pants if you wanted, but you were too busy moaning apparently,” she smirked. 

He wanted to say all sorts of things - that this was wrong, that it would never work, that right now they should both be asleep in separate beds - but Bellatrix shrugged and, with another grimace of pain, positioned herself more comfortably on the drawer she was sitting on. 

“Well, now it’s done, we might as well have fun with it,” she said, and it was hard to miss the triumphant tone in her voice. “Are you going to put it back in or should I?”

Tom’s gaze travelled across her face, which was smeared with his blood, and focused on her eyes. 

“You really want this?” he said seriously. 

“Yes. I’ve already proven it to you, haven’t I?”

“Dirty-veined Mudblood and all?”

Bellatrix broke into a hoarse laugh. 

“Aren’t you a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin?”

Tom blinked. 

“How do you know about that?”

“I had Daddy run an extensive background check on you when you first came here to teach. I was curious about what sort of person’d be able to kill a basilisk and hang its skeleton from the DADA’s classroom ceiling - don’t look so offended, I was turned on.”

Bella ran her nails across his nape, which sent jolts of electricity up and down his spine. He shivered and his cock twitched visibly, making Bella’s evil grin even broader. 

“Impressive,” he mumbled. “Your investigation, I mean, not the -” 

His cock was throbbing so hard, that he was sure Bella, whose eyes were magnetized by his anatomy, was able to see his tip pulsating. She was driving his up the wall. 

“We’re doing this on the bed, then.”

Bella let out a delighted cry, and he carried her to the bed, which was right next to the set of drawers - as the most junior professor of only three years, his living quarters were a glorified water closet and, for once, this came as an advantage. Bellatrix took off her uniform and underwear, and Tom, in his perpetual compulsion for neatness, folded them on the chair before he stripped himself. As Bellatrix arranged the pillows and thin sheets around her, Tom waved his wand, so that a clear, slippery substance came out of the tip. 

“If you allow me, this should make you more comfortable throughout,” he said, waiting for her permission to touch the tender folds between her legs.

“Where was this gentleman when you shoved it up there?” Bellatrix said, but she was still smiling. 

Tom did not reply as he spread a very generous amount of lubricant between her legs. Bellatrix let out small gasps of pleasure when he reached her slit. 

“Stop teasing and do it,” she ordered. 

“Are you under the impression this sort of bossiness is attractive, Miss Black?” It was his turn to be smug. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, or I’ll spank you!” 

“Please do,” Bella licked her lips. “But first, you have something to finish.”

Despite her urging, Tom generated more lubricant and took his time stroking himself. He had spent many lonely evenings of the year this way, his hand down his pants, trying not to think of Bella’s glossy hair and soft breasts and how deliciously warm it would feel inside her. And now here she was, hair fanned out on his pillow, pleading for him to fuck her silly. 

Tom positioned himself carefully between her legs, taking a mental photo of the girl’s soft body laid out on the bed, her breasts falling lushly to the side, the pink slit practically throbbing with desire. His cock twitched violently. 

“Just take a deep breath when I tell you,” he whispered in her ear. Bellatrix was already holding on to his shoulders and leaning towards him for a kiss. 

Their lips met once more and he started grinding the shaft of his cock on her wet entrance, sending white-hot shocks up and down both their spines. When Bella was relaxed enough and hazy with pleasure, he slid inside her slowly, cherishing the feeling of her warm walls parting for him for the first time, and her soft whimpering, which turned into a pained moan when their pubic bones collided. 

“Alright?” he muttered through gritted teeth. It was talking him all he had not to go into a frenzy. 

Instead of an answer, Bella brought his hand to her breast. Instinctively, he squeezed around it. She squirmed in pleasure, and he took this as his cue to do as he pleased. 

Tom started moving, first slowly, then more energetically, with Bella’s hands exploring his body all the while, leaving a trailing of scorched skin in their wake. Soon, he was thrusting into her hard, ignoring her cries of pain in favour of chasing his own pleasure with an urgency he had never experienced before. In fact, it appeared that Bellatrix was herself in some sort of delirium, despite his cock tearing her tight insides raw. With her legs wrapped around his waist, her back arched and her head bouncing on the pillow, she was moaning like a whore; crazy girl was _enjoying the pain_. The idea drove him over the edge.

“I’m gonna-” 

He had no time to finish his warning; the world around him exploded and he buried himself to the hilt inside Bella with a final, powerful thrust. He felt rather than saw his wand, thrown carelessly at the side, writhe and thrash like his own cock finding its release, shooting something sparkly and white out of its end. 

“ _Ohhh!_ Thomas! Thomas, look!”

Tom forced his eyes open, barely raising his head from her neck, where he had collapsed. And he fell speechless. 

His wand, yes, his wand, had cast the Patronus Charm _by itself_ , and now the tiny room was illuminated by a giant silver serpent that sparkled like a million diamonds over their heads. 

“I don’t believe it,” he whispered in awe, more to himself than Bella. “I don’t believe it!”

“I told you it would work!” she replied happily, pushing him off. Free of his weight, she sat up on the bed and reached over to the snake, which swam through the air towards her. As her fingers touched its head, the magical wisp disintegrated. 

“Oh…” Tom scowled. “It’s gone.”

“Don’t be silly, you can cast another one!” 

Bella jerked her head towards his wand, urging him to try the spell out, their roles reversed. Now she was the teacher and he the student who needed encouragement. 

Tom took the yew in his hand, but, before he cast the spell, he had to make something very clear: “My name’s Tom, not Thomas, by the way.”

“Aren’t all Toms Thomases?”

“I’m not. Says Tom on my birth certificate.”

“Muggles are weird.”

“Actually it was my mother who gave me the name, and she was a witch.”

“Yes, Merope Gaunt, was it? Already matches my family’s theme of star-related names.”

“Is that a marriage proposal?”

“I don’t know, are you free on Saturday?” 

Tom let out a laugh and pulled her back to bed. Bella curled up in his lap and he waved his wand. 

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

Silver light engulfed them.

* * *

Ordinarily, double DADA would have been an incredibly boring time for Bellatrix, since it meant two hours of doing nothing, while her classmates tried to make their Patronus Charm work, but today she was finding all sorts of ways to amuse herself. 

Too sore to sit normally on the wooden chair, she would shift her weight on her legs often, making sure to seek eye contact with Tom every single time. She would also wet her lips from time to time, causing his wand to leak white wisps of smoke more than once. Bella knew that the sight of her tongue reminded him of the services his cock had received from this very tongue mere hours ago. 

Her mind travelled to last night’s extra-curricular activities. She had wanted to see this maddeningly-buttoned-up man naked for so long, it didn’t feel real; thank goodness for the deep burning between her legs that served as proof that Tom Riddle, handsome, brilliant and surprisingly lean-muscled Tom Riddle was now hers. 

Tom had proven himself an even better lover than her wildest dreams; the way he lapped at her clit like it was delicious candy; the way he gave her the full length of his cock with each thrust, stretching her to the point she’ thought she’d burst; the way he wasn’t tiptoeing around her, allowing them to enjoy their bodies to the fullest; the way he looked at her with glassy eyes as she rocked on his pelvis for the first time; the way he, the most soft-spoken and reserved person in the world, groaned loudly and showered her with praises as she sucked on his cock.

In short, the way their bodies fit so well together, as if they were made for giving pleasure to the other. Bella was getting wet just thinking about all the new things they’d be doing when she went to Tom’s room right after class. Until then...

“You can do it, Roddy,” she said in a bored voice, leaning back on her chair. 

Rodolphus’ wand had been casting a thick, silver fog for the better part of an hour, and he was beginning to get frustrated. Of course, her condescending tone was the least helpful thing she could be doing. 

“Oh, shut up,” he snapped.

“This is not the proper way of addressing a lady, Mr. Lestrange,” Tom’s voice came from behind them. He walked so smoothly, neither Bella nor Rodolphus had noticed him approach their work station. 

“And this is not the proper way for a lady to be sitting, Miss Black,” he added with a smirk. 

Bella brought all four legs of the chair to the ground, making a show of how much it hurt to be sitting down. 

“Miss Black... “ Tom said, averting his eyes from her behind quickly in order to correct Rodolphus’ wand movement. “Since you appear unable to sit down properly, kindly go invite Professor Dumbledore to our lesson.”

“Right now, sir?”

“Yes, quite.”

Bellatrix left for the teachers’ room, puzzled. Finding Dumbledore proved difficult, but not as difficult as thinking of a good excuse to drag him to the DADA classroom. Finally, she just said that Professor Riddle was anxious he saw the progress of the class, and off they went, Dumbledore looking as if headed to the mass grave of children. They knocked on the heavy oak door of the classroom and let themselves in. Bellatrix did not as much as blink, but Dumbledore could have been hit by lightning the way he jolted when he found himself face to face with the sparkling basilisk Patronus. 

“Ah, professor Dumbledore!” Tom exclaimed from the back of the room. “You came to join our little Patronus Party!”

Bella laughed and waved her wand for her own pantheress to swim gracefully through the air and meet Tom’s serpent. The two animals, enemies in real life, started chasing each other playfully over the students’ heads. 

Dumbledore, in the meantime, looked as if he had been forced to drink Bubotuber pus. Bella and Tom’s bodies grinded on each other, as Bella was walking to her seat and Tom towards Dumbledore, and she squeezed his hand for a moment. Then, she could have sworn she heard Tom mumble: “So, Albus, tell me about Gellert’s Patronus.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading the first part. Next up: Tom realises he has a problem with his wand ejaculation. Since this is science, he and Bella investigate the nature of his ability, by having *a lot* of sex with each other and other people.


End file.
